


He's Come Undone

by b26 (B26)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B26/pseuds/b26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An introspective one shot set between episodes 1.22 and 2.01. Brian laments the events of Justin's prom night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Come Undone

4am and the nightmare was back. It never left.

Every damn night was the same. Brian would wake up in a mad panic in the middle of the night, screaming as he tried to stop the inevitable from happening. He never could. Instead of saving the day and making everything better, he was forced to endure the same horror again and again. Every fucking time.

‘Pull your shit together, Kinney.’ Brian muttered to himself, urging his racing pulse and mind to slow. He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was in his loft, as always. It had all been a dream.

Except it wasn’t a dream. Neither was the nightmare he had been living since the attack. It had all happened.

He couldn’t get five minutes of sleep without his mind dragging him back to that damn parking lot and forcing him to relive every second of the attack on Justin. In reality, it had all happened so fast. The nightmares were not so forgiving. He was locked in place, burdened with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Worse still, time would grind to a halt, every shout and scream slowed to prolong the agony.

Every night he tried to save Justin. Every night he failed.

Nothing helped. No amount of fucking or drugs had granted him any relief. No matter where or when he fell asleep, he’d wake up a quivering mess. Alone. He was in purgatory.

Brian turned on his bedside lamp and stood up from his bed. It was still dark outside, but there was no chance of him getting any more sleep. Bleary eyed, he stumbled to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would give him a much needed energy boost.

Moments before he turned the water on, he stopped, his hands brushing against the scarf draped around his neck. It was the scarf. The scarf which had very nearly spelled out the mighty Kinney’s denouement but which, instead, was a constant reminder of the severe beating Justin had taken. Every drop of Justin’s blood on the white fabric felt like a punch to Brian’s gut. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to wash it. Despite the misery and harsh reminder of mortality it harboured, it smelt of Justin and reminded him that, even though Justin had been injured, he was still alive. He removed the scarf with great care, making the effort to walk back to the bedroom, fold it and place it on Justin’s side of the bed he yearned to share again with his sunshine. Before he could return to the bathroom, Brian felt his body crumbling and he collapsed onto the bed, tears flooding his eyes without warning as weeks of emotion finally found an outlet outside of his dreams.

‘Get a fucking grip.’ He muttered, trying to control himself.

He was Brian Kinney. Brian fucking Kinney. The trick everyone wanted to go home with; the tease every man wanted to emulate on the dance floor at Babylon, then in the backroom or their latest trick’s bedroom later on. He had almost become a legend, but his legacy swayed more toward notoriety as the number of guys he had fucked – and therefore fucked over – grew in numbers. None of that bothered him. It was part of who he was. The illustrious Brian Kinney never let anyone in. He was impervious to love and the pesky emotions that plagued most people – especially lesbians – and any form of social etiquette that required pleasantries beyond getting someone into bed. He never let anyone get too close but, at the same time, would defend his friends to the bitter end – even Ted, of all people – not that he’d ever let them know it. Brian knew most people considered him to be callous and heartless, but it was better than getting hurt. It was just the way he was.

No apologies. No regrets.

Except.

Well, now …?

Now he had one. One apology he knew he could never make; one regret he could never erase.

Justin.

Most people had ‘the one that got away' but Brian had the one who’d wormed his way in; the one who, beyond all logic, reason and protestation, had become the sunshine in his life. Justin had seen right through Brian’s acts of defiance and debauchery, and seen something worth fighting for; someone worth loving. Without even realising it, the one night stand who laughed at love had inexplicably fallen head over heels. Not that he’d ever admit it. Brian was still terrified at how close he’d come to losing Justin. He couldn’t afford to let anyone know just how deeply he cared because that would mean showing humanity and weakness and, at the end of the day, who would want to fuck someone like that? Besides, the one time Brian had truly let his guard down and allowed his true feelings to surface had resulted in Justin lying in a hospital bed covered in blood and fighting for his life. It had hardly been the desirable outcome and had proven what Brian had always suspected to be true: love leads to vulnerability which can only lead to tragedy. In other words? Love fucking hurt. A lot.

The whole world had praised him for saving Justin, although his friends criticised him for seemingly abandoning him since, accusing him of not giving a shit. The truth was neither of those things. Brian Kinney did give a shit. Worryingly so. He would live at that damn hospital if he could and watch over his Sunshine every minute of every day. But he still couldn’t bring himself to face the man he knew he loved. He’d let Justin down, irreparably so. No apology could make that go away.

The truth was that he should have acted faster. He should have stopped that fucking lowlife homophobe from beating Justin, or at least had the decency to return the favour to Chris. The truth was that, despite giving every possible appearance of having moved on and forgetting the attack, Brian was stuck in that night, sinking in quicksand and self-hatred.

No matter how he spun it, the guilt and blame always landed at his feet – not just for the outcome, but the very perpetration of it all. It always wound up being his fault. He had poked the bear. He was the one who had turned up and flaunted his admittedly fucked up pseudo relationship with Justin. From the minute Brian had first fucked him to that sweet, glorious kiss on the dance floor at Justin’s prom, it all came down to the same culprit: Brian fucking Kinney. He had turned Justin into a target and proceeded to bait that stupid fuck Chris.

Every piece of defiance and arrogance Justin had shown Chris in the months leading to the attack stemmed directly from Brian - _he_ was the catalyst who had set horrific events into motion. Before Brian, Justin had been timid and in the closet. Perhaps he had been living a lie, but he had been safe. Without Brian’s interference, Justin may never have returned to Liberty Avenue or had a sexual awakening which, in turn, had awoken the beast in Chris.

Brian knew he had behaved like an utter twat. All of his teasing in the game of cat and mouse he’d played with Justin had lured Sunshine back. Time after time, Brian had played with fire and, ultimately, Justin had been the one to get burnt. No one would ever blame Brian – not to his face at any rate – but that did nothing to appease his guilt.

No apologies, no regrets.

What a fucking joke.

 

 


End file.
